


It's All for the Reward

by Moonlit_Lilacs



Category: Hunter X Hunter, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Crack, Crossdressing, Crossover, Denial, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Humor, Jealousy, Kurapika & Chuuya are Bros, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Pet Names, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Lilacs/pseuds/Moonlit_Lilacs
Summary: After being randomly summoned by the Mafia Boss, Chuuya and Kurapika were in no way prepared for the insane plan Mori had devised to bring down an imminent threat to the Port Mafia; but they were seasoned professionals, and with a reward as delectable as the Cabernet Sauvignon wine, there was no question about their willingness to play their parts.However, little did they know that this mission would force them into countless uncomfortable situations, including espionage, cross-dressing, seduction, and the two people they hated the most.
Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75





	1. Bring it ON

“Kurapika Kurta and Chuuya Nakahara,” announced Kurapika curtly, without sparing a glance at the butler standing by his side.

From beside him, Chuuya chimed in, “The boss called us in.”

Without a second wasted, the butler inclined his head in a small bow, gloved fingers promptly pushing open the rusty, mahogany doors.

Inside, an expansive crimson carpet encompassed the entirety of the room, hints of wood bleeding through the stark red furniture, and the office was imbued with impressions of death, its invisible smell permeating every crevice yet tangible only to trained senses. This room had been splattered with the blood of far too many _criminals—innocents._ Although scrubbed clean of every speck, the atmosphere still held suffocating eeriness.

No one who had walked into this vampire’s den uninvited left alive. Maybe for their own good.

As the two Mafia executives made their way into the room, the sound of their dress shoes clicking against the floor was muffled by the expensive carpet. They eyed the back of their superior, sitting so nonchalantly and perching a glass of wine against his crossed legs with his right hand. 

Sensing their presence, Mori’s violet eyes slowly blinked open, acknowledging his two subordinates who now stood rigidly in front of him. 

“You called for us, boss?” Chuuya inquired unhelpfully, barely hiding his vexation at being requested at such an inconvenient time. 

Kurapika visibly tensed next to him, side eyeing Chuuya as a silent plea to keep quiet, clearly unaccustomed to such rudeness when addressing a superior. 

Mori hummed, setting down his wineglass on the table. His piercing eyes flitted between them in a scrutinizing manner, holding a gleam that spoke of chaos. 

“Now, now, boys, why don’t you make yourselves comfortable?” he said with a honeyed, lilting voice, gesturing to the adjacent couch with one hand. 

The executives narrowed their eyes, sensing danger behind the words. However, they promptly abided by his command, seating themselves on either end of the couch. That was when cobalt and taupe pairs of eyes widened comically at the sight of temptation before them. 

A 1886 bottle of wine— _spawn of the_ devil—clearly imported, glared mockingly at the two executives. One of them recovering from alcoholism, the other in the midst of its throes. 

Something was definitely up.

Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed subtly, gulping in barely restrained desire. _Was that the 1886 Cabernet Sauvignon bottle the mafia boss hid for special occasions?_ There was no doubt about it, Chuuya had been waiting for this moment his entire life. The articulate details on the obsidian bottle made it impossible to mistake it as some cheap wine, the hints of silver adding a glossy shine. He felt his mouth watering at the unholy sight, just imagining the savory taste on his tongue, made him itch to touch it, however, the smirking face of his boss stopped him dead in his tracks.

Kurapika on the other hand, was in the midst of fighting an agonizing internal battle with himself. He eyed the menacing bottle situated in front of him, left hand moving on its own accord to grip the arm of the chair, as if to brace himself. Chains dug painfully in the palm of his hand as he clenched it shut, drawing blood from the force applied to ground himself. Clenching his teeth, albeit with difficulty, Kurapika tore his eyes off the bottle and turned his gaze to his boss.

Down in the cellars of the mafia bunkers, location unbeknown to a single soul other than the carriers of security clearance level 5 and above, lay a valley of hidden treasures that no hand had been able to acquire, sleek shelves containing row after row of the most exquisite of liquorserved only for special situations. Most mafiosi lived and died without having sampled the divine liquid. To think that the mafia boss would resort to such extensive measures meant he had something dangerous brewing up his sleeve.

This bastard was playing his trump card. And dammit… it was working.

Mori intertwined his gloved hands together, leaning his upper body forward to better assess the two men, “Now then, shall we get started?” He posed the rhetorical question, suppressing a smirk.

Two nods of approval urged him to continue, “As you both know by now, the Port Mafia is at its wit's end due to the emergence of an anonymous criminal organization. Our resources have been milked dry at this point, and it appears that drastic measures are due.” The paling of the executives faces forced a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “After consulting with many of our strategists, and using up all of the previous plans, we have devised one that in theory is fool-proof.”

The two mafiosi eyed each other warily, the seriousness of the situation settling on them with resounding clarity. Kurapika opened his mouth to voice his question, however, he decided against it when he was met with a terrifying look from his boss, daring him to interrupt him.

A small chuckle escaped Mori’s lips, “No need to be so tense you two, how about you help yourselves to a drink?” he said, directing a friendly smile that belied evil intent at the two alcoholics. 

Quivering in anticipation, Kurapika and Chuuya reached for the wine bottle with no question. Before they had the chance to grab it, a voice stopped them dead in their tracks. “Shall I..?” Mori, now holding a 2013 bottle of cheap wine in his right hand inquired, reveling in their surprise. 

Aghast, Chuuya choked back a scalding remark. He played right into this devil's hands. What had he expected, of course it was not going to be this simple. This bastard had the audacity to trick both of them with the promise of finely-aged wine, instead offering them a disgusting surrogate that might as well had been purchased from the one dollar thrift shop. Kurapika was seething next to him, his barely contained rage emanating off of him in waves. However, Chuuya had no intention of humoring this sadistic beast in front them; one of them had to be calm and collected. Taking the role on himself, Chuuya schooled his features back into a neutral expression, accepting the offered wine bottle and making quick work of pouring himself and Kurapika a generous amount. They would need it after all.

Clearing his throat rather obnoxiously, Mori sipped on his wine with closed eyes, humming loudly in appreciation at the deep taste of the immaculately textured liquid, the distinction was clear, this was the _1886 Cabernet Sauvignon._ “I have already contacted our accomplices in the operation, and a ceasefire had been negotiated.” At that, the two executives perked up, curiosity taking over. “The Armed Detective Agency had been surprisingly complacent, however, the Phantom Troupe took a little more convincing, nothing too difficult of course.” 

Kurapika was the first to voice his protest, slamming his hands harshly against the marbled table, bringing himself to stand violently, “Boss, if I may object. Our history with these two agencies has not been sightly to say the least, how can we be so confident that they wont break the ceasefire and take this operation as a chance to catch us off guard?” Narrowed eyes were now trained on his superior, malice evident in his stance.

Mori barely reacted, he had expected these outbursts, “With a common enemy at hand, it’s far too unlikely that the agencies will prioritize our demise over exterminating that organization.” He said matter of factly.

Not convinced, Kurapika opened his mouth to object, however, Chuuya beat him to it, “Boss, as much as I value your ideas, this one is clearly pushing the Port Mafia into a position of humiliating submissiveness.” 

Kurapika rushed to elaborate, “That point aside, Boss, it is safe to assume that our ‘accomplices’ had hidden agendas when they agreed to this deal.” He gestured with his hands for emphasis, his now scarlet eyes exuding a certain urgency.

Chuuya followed his colleague in standing up, posture now radiating anger, “We have evidence to back this up!”

Beside him Kurapika helpfully added, “Do you want it relayed alphabetically or chronologically?” Sarcasm was dripping from his tone.

Mori lifted one palm signaling them to be silent, he could only handle this insolence for so long, “While you’re at it, why don’t you write the report on lilac-scented parchment and accentuate it in sparkles and glitter?” He said with his hands folded with docile geniality, head tilted slightly to the side with a smile playing at his lips. 

The two mafia executives realized their mistake, and begrudgingly seated themselves with an audible exhale. They had overstepped their boundaries. Who knew what punishment awaited them.

A lingering question pressed at Chuuya’s mind, “Boss if you would allow me to ask, who exactly will we be working alongside?” 

In the background, Chopin’s Nocturne op.9 No.2 could be heard playing on the record player, the dulcet notes clouding the room in a mockingly peaceful atmosphere. The number of times the song peaked to a tumultuous climax before descending to a quiet conclusion was bordering on insufferable. 

Mori was humming alongside the music repetitively, feeding off of the sneers the mafiosi were leveling him with, “That.. will come later on.”

Avidly avoiding the question, the Mafia boss changed the subject eloquently, “But don’t think of me so ruthless,” A hand reached out to gesture to the _1886 Cabernet Sauvignon Wine Bottle_ , “Think of this as your reward for complying.” 

Two gulps could be spied, sinking just beneath the collars of their shirts.

He had won.

The Mafia superior raised his glass in a toast, anticipating the clicks of his subordinates glasses with his, “Now then, shall we toast to our grand plan?” voice laced with hidden intent. 

Kurapika and Chuuya succumbed to their fate, dejectedly raising their cheap wine glasses towards their boss, “To the longevity of the Port Mafia!” They all said in unison, glasses clinking loudly against each other, before being chugged down by each party. 

The music in the background was abruptly brought to a halt. 

Mori stood on his feet, his back now facing the opposite direction of the mafiosi, his head inclined to side eye them, as his voice dripped with honey at his assured victory, allowing no room for negation, “6pm sharp in the meeting room. They will be waiting.” 

* * *

The atmosphere surrounding the bustling cafe was damn near suffocating.

Around them people conversed loudly, clearly immersed in whatever nonsensical small talk whose significance was most definitely less than the imminent dread plaguing their mind. _Tch. This was unfair, why did they have to be treated like dogs serving their master??_ Observing their surroundings, they felt a trace of envy directed unjustly towards every smiling dimwit seated innocently. 

Bringing the rim of the mug to his lips, Kurapika inhaled the bitter aroma, watching the vapor arising from the coffee with little to no interest. Taking in a deep gulp and momentarily wincing at the scalding heat, he eventually piped up, “Would you kindly stop fidgeting? It’s distracting to say the least.” 

In front of him, Chuuya who was normally composed, was rocking his legs in agitation and biting his nails anxiously. The choker around his neck was a grave reminder that he was subservient to another. Tracing it absentmindedly, the red-head snapped, “Being distracted is a privilege. Or would you rather focus on the fact that we are _literally_ being paired up with scum incarnate?!”

Preparing to shoot back a snarky remark, Kurapika’s taupe eyes momentarily flicked to his wrist-watch. Ten minutes until the dreaded meeting. Closing his eyes with an exasperated sigh, he said coolly, “We should go.”

Chuuya grumbled, icy eyes hardening in resignation to his fate, “Right. Boss will have our heads if we keep those scumbags waiting.” 

Entering the Port Mafia headquarters, polished shoes clicked sharply against the marble floors, rapidly approaching the elevator and getting in. Pressing the button to the designated floor with a gloved finger, Chuuya leaned his elbows atop the railings, staring aimlessly at the passersby through the glass window. 

Next to him, Kurapika leaned his weight against the creme-colored wall of the elevator, arms crossing defiantly over his chest, the ding of the elevator distracting him from abrasive thoughts, “Remember, whatever happens we can’t lose our cool, this operation is vital for the success of the Port Mafia.” He said assertively, masking his own unease with false confidence.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not like I will jump on their throats and kill them.” Chuuya sarcastically remarked, tearing his eyes off the view, and facing the elevator door.

The Port Mafia was a massive organization; people who worked there hardly interacted with each other, judging by the enormous mounts of missions assigned to them in the field, and rarely did people get paired up as a team, which allowed for no room for developing meaningless sentiments—it was the Mafia’s dirty way to keep them under their control.

The two mafiosi were accustomed to the hard edge life of working solo, basking in the freedom of their solitude, being able to make decisions independently, without having to worry about an opposing opinion that might hinder the progress of the operation. This was a huge obstacle dropped onto them in a short amount of time, forcing them to adapt. 

Chuuya didn’t know what to make of Kurapika. He had only heard rumors of how ruthless the executive’s methods in interrogating his victims were, and of course he had heard of the infamous scarlet eyes that were triggered in the face of tumultuous emotion. However, the man standing in the elevator posed no resemblance to the faint vision he had of him; rather, the man was exuding an air of calm composure.

Kurapika eyed Chuuya from the periphery of his vision, appraising him with an analytical glance in a failed attempt to be subtle. _Did the records mention he was this short?_ The blonde quirked an eyebrow, impressed that an executive this size managed to wreak havoc on countless people, showing no mercy whatsoever. The unorthodox methods of torture he had subjected his victims to were horror stories passed on by every underling and apprentice; and judging by the fearsome glances both of them were receiving, Kurapika had to guess that he too was a topic of discussion. If Kurapika wasn’t so ruthless himself, he might have had reason to steer clear from him. However, the tiny ball of rage next to him seemed to pose no threat whatsoever, instead, it was bordering on the edge of cute-

“You’re not so tall yourself, you know!” Chuuya snapped, interrupting his train of thought. 

Caught off guard, Kurapika whippedhis head at inhuman speed, eyes wide in shock, spluttering, “W-what? I was not thinking th-“ 

“SHUT UP! I could see it in your eyes blondie!” A gloved finger was directed at him in accusation, his icy gaze turning fiery in unrestrained rage, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest wracking his small frame. 

“Blondie??” Kurapika incredulously exclaimed, eyes widening comically. “Who are you calling blondie, midget!” 

A loud gasp could be heard from the opposing party. “You know, for a person who exudes innocence, your ability is rather kinky, isn't it? Chains!” Chuuya huffed, his thumb and forefinger cupping his chin mockingly, “No time to be into BDSM, wouldn't you say?”

A darkness descended on Kurapika’s visage, closing his now scarlet eyes before the mafia executive could catch a glimpse. The tension that grew in the span of seconds, tangible in the confined space. Heaving a sigh, Kurapika opened his mouth to say, “Listen here you—“ 

He had no time to finish his rebuke, as a loud ding from the elevator sounded from the speaker, signaling their arrival. 

The elevator door slid open, revealing a wide expanse of scarlet carpet, faint music could be heard in the distance. The mafiosi made their way through the dimly lit hallways. Kurapika was clenching his fists in agitation, clearly not over what transpired in the elevator. Noticing this, Chuuya nudged him, “Calm down.” If they went in there already on edge, hell would break loose. They had to be composed, and Kurapika was well aware of that.

Willing his breathing to steady, Kurapika lets out a small, “I’m calm.”

Little did they know. Hell had already broken loose.

The sound of clicking heels froze. 

Chuuya and Kurapika, at their wit's end, stood frozen in complete shock upon entering the meeting room. Light bulbs directed their warm beams at the center, enkindling an elegant ambiance rife with sophistication. The waning sun peaking through the embroidered curtains, opened halfway, cast shadows on the wooden floor. The caramel walls decorated with abstract paintings were placed horizontally, arranged in a triptych. The cackling of wood cut through the silence eerily, and the flames from the fireplace flickered, setting a faint glow to its surroundings, and engulfing the room in a gentle heat. 

In the corner, a gramophone was positioned atop a high rounded table, the record spinning in a continuous rhythm. The mafiosi could faintly make out Mariage D’amour playing, the notes forming a serene melody, prompting the embers of fire to dance along its reverberations. One could almost call it romantic, if not for—

“Yo~” A lively voice chirped obnoxiously, giving a two fingered wave. 

There on the creme-colored love seats, sat two figures clouded in mystery. A mess of chestnut hair was peeking from atop the cushion, head lazily reclining against it, left arm draped leisurely along the back of the couch situated at one end of the room. Bandaged fingers that were holding a glass of wine sloshed the scarlet liquid in circles, lean legs crossed in a laid-back manner. The figure was sporting a double-vested suit, white shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing a maze of tight fitting bandages, a continental necktie adorning his neck, the light reflecting off of the brooch, with a beige overcoat covering the slender body. Amber eyes redirected their attention from the wine to the red-head, raking through every inch starting from the top then descending to the bottom, then flicking back to icy-blue eyes. The figure licked their lips appreciatively, a smirk playing at their lips.

On the other end of the room, another figure was seated, the fire cackling behind him reflecting onto his back in warm waves, shadowing his visage, setting an almost gloomy mien to his countenance. The fading sunlight wafting through the curtains hit the left side of his face, highlighting the pleased smirk the man harbored. The figure was shrouded in black, dressed in a turtleneck that was complemented by a necklace of an inverted cross, a blazer hugging his lean form in all the right places. Raven hair was splayed evenly across his bandaged forehead, as though to conceal a hidden secret. Slender fingers wrapped around the cover of a book, before bringing it to a close. Shifting his attention towards the newcomers, steel eyes fixed themselves on delectable taupe eyes, a gleam of mischief shining clearly. 

Aghast. Incredulous. Enraged. All words that could not begin to describe what Chuuya and Kurapika were feeling. 

Two sharp intakes of breath sounded from the entrance of the room, mouths agape in utter shock. The two figures were none other than Chrollo Lucilfer and Osamu Dazai, and now that the two mafiosi got a clear look at both of them, they cursed the cruel irony of fate that brought them to this moment. And for good measures they cursed that damned mafia boss.

_That fucker._

Mori knew. He definitely knew that Lucilfer and Dazai were the banes of their existence. He definitely knew that they were sworn enemies since the moment they met, and the fact that he was exploiting their weakness for personal gains was beyond revolting.

“I’m out.” Kurapika cut through the silence with those two simple words, already making his way back to the elevator, blinded by righteous anger. 

Suddenly, a hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, throwing him on the nearest wall, practically suffocating him with the force applied. Kurapika felt the wind being knocked out of him, gasping for breath as Chuuya pressed on his windpipe rather painfully, “Look blondie,” Chuuya started, gritting his teeth in absolute fury, redirecting his anger at Kurapika, “I know you’re mad right now, and hell with it I am too, but you are not abandoning this mission!” 

Kurapika choked out, “Tell me one reason why we should be inclined to partake in this mission, huh?” 

Gloved fingers travelled from Kurapika’s collar to reach for his jaw, tightening their grip and turning his head in the direction of the table, “Look!” 

And right there, placed so temptingly right on the center of the oak table, was the _1886 Cabernet Sauvignon_. It was then that it dawned on Kurapika that the wine both men were sipping was the majestic, coveted liquid that he had been denied of beforehand. 

Time slowed in that moment, the ticking of the clock growing more distant, as two pairs of eyes zeroed in on the object of their heart’s desire. Glaring in confliction, Kurapika cursed under his breath.

“Care to join us anytime soon, darling?” Chrollo said smoothly, lips graced with a knowing smile, effectively bringing the blonde’s thoughts to a halt. 

Kurapika physically winced upon hearing that conceited tone, parting his lips to shoot a snarky remark, however, Chuuya intervened, stepping defensively in front him—as if that would do anything— “What makes you think we want to join you, slick?!” 

That warranted a raise of an eyebrow from Chrollo, “Your orders, I would hope?” Turning his eyes on the red-head, he fixed him with a seemingly amiable smile that was cold under the surface.

Dazai chuckled lowly under his breath, a mirthful gleam shining in his eyes, “I see you lost some braincells since I last saw you, chibi~” 

Chuuya snapped, spinning sharply on his heels, pointing an accusatory gloved finger at Dazai.The heat on his face growing in intensity complementing his anger, “You’re one to talk. Are you down to your last penny drowning yourself in bandages, mummy!” 

From the sidelines, Kurapika scoffed unbelievingly, “Boss did say we were teaming up with rival organizations, but he never mentioned anything about working with lowlifes.” Letting out a sigh, Kurapika eyed Chuuya shortly, beckoning him to follow, “Let’s discuss this seate—“ 

Only, the two were struck with an appalling realization; Chrollo and Dazai were conveniently seated opposite each other, leaving no room for the two mafiosi to sit except next to them. They had to act fast, unless they wanted to be in such close proximity to scum.

“Move.” Kurapika now standing behind the couch Dazai occupied, hissed assertively in a no bullshit tone, gesturing with his eyes for the brunette to join the ravenette. 

Slowly setting down the glass of wine, Dazai turned to face Kurapika, a sly grin plastered on his face, “Damn, kitty _does_ have claws after all.” Already anticipating the fist threatening to swing, he moved to the other side of the room, casually seating himself next to Chrollo, who held an unreadable expression, inscrutable emotion flickering momentarily in his otherwise emotionless eyes, however, as quickly as it came, it disappeared. Noticing this, Dazai side eyed him with a secretive smirk playing at his lips. 

The Port Mafia executives made their way to the opposing couch, the lingering warmth serving as a reminder that trash was occupying this space before. There was no way they would be able to go through this meeting sober, and for a second they both chastised themselves for not drinking beforehand. Glaring with lethal intention, the executives reached out to pour themselves a very much needed glass of wine, however, gloomy realization dawned on the both of them when they saw no glasses present. 

Seeing an opportunity of a lifetime, Kurapika nudged Chuuya in the side, leaning in to whisper, “Psst, this is our chance. We should steal the bottle and get the hell out of here.” 

However, before they could go forth with the plan, a voice interfered with measured calmness. “I wouldn’t recommend doing that if I were you,” Chrollo uncrossed his legs, leaning forward to take the bottle into his hand, raising it to their eye level before shaking it slightly to either side. The smile on his face was too pleased.

“It’s empty?!” Chuuya cried out, slamming the table in frustration. The flower vase trembled at the impact and teetered off the edge before slamming to the floor in a loud bang, the water seeping into the expensive carpet.

Dazai let out a low whistle. He leaned to the side and brought his hand close to his mouth to whisper into Chrollo’s ear at a deliberately loud volume, “The alcohol withdrawal is hitting them hard, isn’t it.”

Baring his chains threateningly, Kurapika made it clear that Dazai’s words did not go unheard. “What was that?”

Being well-acquainted with Kurapika’s anger tantrums, and sensing the impending danger, Chrollo heaved a sigh, sparing a glance at the clock, “At this rate, we won’t accomplish anything. How about we leave the bickering for after we’ve discussed the plan?”

As much as it pained the mafiosi to admit it, his logic was indisputable. With a subdued huff, they slouched against the back of the couch, admitting defeat.

Outside, the chirping of the birds had long ceased, the sky now shrouded in a veil of darkness. The moon, peeking from behind the semi-opened curtains, suggested that this was going to be a long night.

“Shall we begin?”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys :3 the idea to this fic came to us while we were shopping, and then we saw a skirt, and then we thought about our two mafia boys crossdressing. and we thought that we should write this crack fic.  
> please look forward for the disaster that's about to come!


	2. Deals and Dresses

“Uh-uh.”

“Hell no, we will be doing no such thing.”

The mafia executives dissipated the tension that clouded the meeting room in insufferable silence, the elapsed seconds stretched into abnormal lengths, giving them ample time to process the unadulterated absurdity that spewed out of their adversaries’ mouths. They could hardly believe the sheer audacity that compelled Dazai and Lucilfer to suggest such a laughable plan.

A smirk tugged at Lucilfer’s lips, and Kurapika visibly sneered. Kurapika felt it in his bones, the two twisted men seated before them were enjoying this way too much, they probably took a sick joy in tormenting and humiliating them, and seeing their aggravated reactions spurred them on.

_Was this Mori’s plan?_

He wouldn’t put it past that bastard, but judging by the faces of the scumbags, it seemed that they were catering to their own whims and desires. The mafiosi felt a chilling shiver run down their spine at the scheming gleam that flashed in steel and amber eyes.

Were they… doing this for their own sick and perverted pleasure?

Could it be..?

Chuuya felt a flush run down the tips of his ears, traveling to the back of his neck. He felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. As though aware of the thoughts running through his mind, Dazai trained his mischievous gaze on him, a subtle smirk making its way on his face. Chuuya felt the blush intensify against his own volition, mentally chastising and willing himself to calm down.

“You know.. If you’re feeling hot you should take off your jacket~” Dazai chirpily added, a sly expression resting on his visage. His question held two ulterior motives; on the one hand, he knew that Chuuya was flustered by the implications of the plan, but on the other hand, he was fulfilling a sick fantasy of his—having him undress under his command—and Chuuya will be damned if he fulfilled this sick bastard’s perverted whims.

Tch.

Turning away with a scoff, Chuuya eyed his companion. Kurapika had a pained expression on, arms crossed over his chest, chained fingers clutching his forearm in a death grip. His posture was rife with tension, and the moment he felt the emotions take over the entirety of his body, forcing his eyes to turn scarlet of their own accord, he willed them shut. Any show of weakness will fill the scumbags with sick satisfaction.

“Do we have a say in this?” Kurapika took the gamble and voiced the dreaded question, already knowing the answer.

A wry chuckle ripped from Chrollo’s throat, a mocking edge to it, “With what limited time we have, you actually think you could come up with a better plan?” He paused, gulping an absurd amount of wine, before adding, “Unless, you’ve already thought of something better.”

Not stepping down from his position, Kurapika snapped his eyes open, fixing his heated gaze at the gifted, “This is your idea of a _good_ plan, you bastard??”

Mulling over the question for a few seconds, Chrollo countered with logic, “A good plan is one that shows consistency, and guarantees the desired outcome, so according to these conditions, this _is_ a good plan.”

Clearly not satisfied, Kurapika readied himself to refute that argument, however, a certain red-head beat him to it, “Excuse me???” Chuuya slammed his palm on the couch, fearing a repeat of the vase incident, “You’re telling me you had all the time to think over a plan and this is the best you could come up with? Seriously? I expected better from The Phantom Troupe.”

Chuuya’s attempt at riling the man up was futile, for there was no noticeable change in his expression, instead, a winning smirk plastered itself on his face, “We’ll humor your desire to complain, but this will change nothing.”

Kurapika was livid at that. He didn’t take kindly to the tone Chrollo was employing; it was as though the bastard was belittling their opinions and the role they had to play in this operation, “Change nothing? Did you forget the part where we are _partners_ in this mission?” Kurapika spat out, disgust seeping through his voice at the notion of them being associated in any way.

Tense silence stretched out, the seconds ticking by painfully slow. It was so quiet that the placement of Dazai’s wineglass on the oak table echoed loudly throughout the room. Bringing his bandaged wrist to his chin, he turned his upper body to face Chrollo, fingers resting questioningly on his jaw, “Hmm, I was not under the impression that this was _our_ plan?” Dazai dutifully ignored the mafiosi’s presence, amber eyes set solely on his companion.

Chrollo offered a pitying smile at Dazai before turning to asses the two firecrackers. His visage claimed a mockingly sympathetic expression, eyebrows knitting together in fake concern, “You see,” He started, taking in their anticipation, secretly thriving off of it, “This was Mori’s plan all along.”

Those six simple words had the same impact as a bomb that had been dropped unceremoniously on unsuspecting victims. Color drained from the mafiosi’s faces, leaving them ashen. Beads of sweat formed on their temples, as their bodies rushed to accommodate the shock. However, the stiffening of their spines rendered them immobile, their heart rates speeding up in complete contrast to their labored breathing.

When reality caught up with them, and they overcame their initial shock, absolute fury overwhelmed them. They felt their blood boiling in anger. At this point it was almost laughable how they always managed to screw themselves up and get into situations where loss was guaranteed, how was it that they always fell to this trap?

The scumbags planned for this all along, reveling in their humiliation. They knew what sort of reactions they would entice out of the mafiosi, and Kurapika and Chuuya played into their cards like a mule chasing a carrot.

A loud knock came from the entrance, ripping the mafiosi out of their self-degrading thoughts, mumbling a small “Excuse me,” The butler bowed in respect before inviting himself in, carrying two fancy water bottles on a platter. Striding towards the men in long steps, he hastened to place the water on the oak table, before rushing out of the room.

Without a second wasted, two hands reached out clumsily for the water bottles, chugging them down violently, not minding the droplets that traced down their chins and soaked through their shirts. They were emptied in mere seconds, before being slammed harshly onto the table.

Feeling more clear-headed, the two mafiosi breathed in deeply, taking in the vanilla scented candles wafting through the air. They deemed it necessary to establish ground rules so as to guarantee no foul play from the scumbags.

Raising a thin blond eyebrow, Kurapika cocked his head to the side, “We have some rules we expect you to abide by if we are to take part in this ridiculous plan.”

Dazai scoffed, fixing Kurapika with a challenging gaze, “The plan has already been set. Making changes at this point will delay us.”

Huffing impatiently, Kurapika countered back with a sneer, “The rules won’t hinder your _precious_ plan. They will safe guard us from whatever ridiculous motives you two have concocted.”

“Let’s hear them out.” Chrollo offered from the side, before extending a permissive palm, “Please go ahead.”

Taking up the invitation, Chuuya expressed his inner alpha male dominance, splaying both arms across the back of the couch, deftly placing his ankle on one knee, hoping to radiate an air of authority. Kurapika visibly cringed from beside him, coughing to mask his secondhand embarrassment and unconsciously shifting away from him.

“First,” Chuuya drawled with a smirk, “No hidden cameras. Mics are okay, but we don't want any visual evidence of what will transpire.”

Their accomplices were biting their quivering lips, attempting to conceal what could only be interpreted as amused laughter at the small man’s expense. However, they opted to humor him, with Dazai giving him a genial smile, finding it endearing how Chuuya actually believed that he looked imposing in any manner, “Although it inconveniences us, we can make it work if only to appease your lovely eyes~”

Momentarily taken aback, Chuuya jolted at the unexpected flirtation before quickly schooling his features into a lofty facade, whipping his chin upwards with closed eyes.

Having had enough of this, Kurapika kicked Chuuya’s raised foot to the ground, prompting a surprised yelp from his partner, his fiery hair whipping as he turned to face him with an incredulous, “What the hell man?!”

Smoothly ignoring him and choosing to focus on the task at hand, Kurapika started curtly, “Second rule.” He raised his voice to overshadow his partner’s insistent nagging, “We will not be overstepping our boundaries and will do nothing that’s outside our comfort zones.”

Across the room, Chrollo and Dazai held an unreadable expression, a shadow falling over their visage, enticing an unpleasant shift in the air. A murderous gleam flickered across their eyes at the implications that Kurapika’s words contained, but those thoughts were a mystery to the mafiosi. Chrollo leveled them with a gaze that spoke of inexplicable darkness, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

For a man known for deception and manipulation, his tone held a considerable amount of honesty.

Chuuya, trying to recover from the great slight against his masculinity, as well as the embarrassment that accompanied it, was unaware of the rising tension that engulfed the meeting room. Clearing his throat in an attempt to recover his control of the situation, “Last rule. We get to choose our own outfits for the party.”

His victorious expression fell apart at the single word that escaped the two men in unison, “Pass.”

Chuuya jumped from the couch, knocking down a cushion in the process. Feeling at an advantage with everyone being at a lower level than him, he jabbed an accusatory finger in the air, exclaiming loudly, “Huh? What the hell do you mean you pass, you assholes?”

Taking another sip from the seemingly bottomless glass of wine, Dazai calmly elaborated, “We mean that you would not choose suitable outfits for the mission’s objective. All that we’re asking you to do is to trust us.”

Kurapika who had been holding his silence up until that moment, snapped, “Trust you? You’re literally asking us to do the impossible here.”

In a desperate attempt to save face, Chuuya sat back and crossed his arms, calmly stating, “We are not signing the contract until you agree to our conditions.”

With a second pitying smile, Chrollo whipped out a parchment, holding it in their line of sight, “You see,” He began with a mirthful tone, “It has already been signed.”

A dawning realization descended upon them; this whole meeting had been completely unnecessary. It was entirely credible that the papers had already been signed the moment they were called into Mori’s office this very morning. Their Mafia boss’s boredom had rendered them into mere puppets in a glorified puppet-show; and as usual, they allowed the strings to guide their movements, much like a brainless marionette.

The mafiosi paused, frustrated beyond words and entirely spent, before sharing a burnt-out look. They promptly rose to their feet, heeding their accomplices no mind as they headed towards the elevator.

Dazai spared a fleeting glance to the clock, “My my, it appears that dinnertime has arrived,” Eyeing the retreating backs of the mafiosi, he posed a question, “Care to join us?”

He was offered no answer, except for the sound of retreating footsteps and a ding from the elevator.

Nonplussed, Chrollo turned to Dazai and lightly mused, “It appears we will be each other’s only company.”

An entertained hum was the only response he got. Their wineglasses joined together in a clink.

* * *

Several floors above the meeting room, a dimly lit office was suffused by pale moonlight seeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows, endowing the room with aged romanticism that was belied by distinct eeriness.

A tenebrous melody played in the background, sharp and haunting notes coming together to form a sinister atmosphere. Tartini’s Devil’s Trill Sonata was a piece that frequently graced the office during nightly hours, the shrill strokes of the violin bow complementing the depth of the emotions.

Bringing the wine glass to his nose to inhale the sweet scent, the Mafia Boss hummed appreciatively then took a sip. The music enticed goosebumps that were nonetheless hidden by his heavy coat. Behind him, obsidian candles flickered intermittently, casting his shadow onto the mahogany desk, radiating an air of elegance and power.

Gaze flitting briefly to the screen situated before him, Mori allowed his contented smile to widen at the ongoings unfolding in real time. The high definition quality of the live footage showcasing his little pawns going back and forth arguing, ripped a dark chuckle from his throat. His puppets were so predictable in their behavior, each of them attempting to gain the upper hand, blissfully unaware that every small event was already accounted for.

“What a lovely show you are giving me.”

Violet eyes sparked with mirth, a winning gleam flashing briefly before quickly fading.

Gazing into the empty room, Mori extended his wine glass before toasting to the air.

Everything went according to plan.

* * *

In one of Yokohama’s most prestigious clothing stores, warm lights illuminated various clothing items displayed on the hangers, casting shadows of the mannequins onto the shiny marble tiles. Hints of polished wood framed the mirrors and the shelves housing the most intricate fabrics; embroidered cloth specked with fine diamonds, and sewn with top-notch thread, woven together to create a silky-smooth texture.

Manicured fingers nimbly reached out to stroke the fabric, admiring the quality of the designs. A pleased smile wove its way onto Chrollo’s face, blood thrumming in excitement at the prospect of handpicking an outfit for one irritable blonde. The idea of seeing that lithe body scantily dressed in lingerie made his heartbeat quicken and his extremities tingle in barely restrained desire. The more he lingered on the thought, the more his smile gained a sly mien, the hazy figure in question becoming crystal clear in his imagination.

Suddenly he felt the unwelcome weight of an arm drop onto his shoulder, wrapping itself over the entirety of his frame. Unduly startled out of his perverse thoughts, Chrollo rushed to twist the arm of the assailant, before the whiff of heavy cologne sparked recognition in his mind. Without sparing a glance, he already had an inkling of who the man was.

“Yo~”

An obnoxious voice broke the silence, interrupting the quiet moment Chrollo was indulging in.

Shoving his face uncomfortably close to the ravenette’s, Dazai flashed an overbearingly friendly smile, teeth glinting in the glow of the headlamps, “Fancy seeing you here, partner.”

Keeping a steady gaze, Chrollo didn’t feel the need to inch away from the detective, instead plastering his own cordial smile, “Not at all like I sent you the store’s coordinates this very morning.”

Edging impossibly closer, Dazai bumped hips with his partner, completely heedless of the rules of conduct and propriety. Chrollo’s eyes unconsciously widened at the gesture, but he quickly recovered.

“But I like the intrigue much better,” Dazai paused, swiping an open palm in the air to encompass an imaginary expanse, “It’s as if fate brought us together.”

Raising an amused eyebrow, Chrollo appraised the brunette with a small smile, humming quietly as he took a mental note of rapid deductions concerning Dazai’s beliefs and interests.

Having ascertained Dazai’s unconscious tendency to procrastinate their plans, Chrollo eased himself out of his partner’s hold. Gesturing to the wide variety of clothes, he prompted, “Shall we?”

A wide grin spread on Dazai’s face, a gleam of mischief shining in his amber eyes. He backed away from his partner, purposefully raking his eyes over his form, if only to entice a reaction out of the stoic man. Little did he know, Chrollo was already accustomed to the invasive gestures of a certain clown. Very little could unsettle him at this point.

Heaving a sigh, Dazai shied away from the passionless gaze that he was leveled with, a humorously mournful expression marring his visage, “I’ll make that shell of yours crack.” Enveloping the back of his head with both palms, he trained his unfocused brown orbs onto the bright ceiling, before fixing Chrollo with a cunning look, “Mark my words, Luci.”

Appraising Dazai with an exaggerated blink, Chrollo heaved a long suffering sigh, not at all perturbed by the ominous promise, “You have the honor of being the first and only person to call me that.”

Feeling slightly encouraged, Dazai’s hair whipped at the momentum of his hasty head turn, “Like it~?” He intoned, voice dripping with sarcasm as well as a discreet desire for it to be true.

Without missing a beat, Chrollo deadpanned, “Not particularly, no.”

Sensing that those three words marked the end of the conversation, Dazai clicked his tongue in dismay, and turned sharply away from his partner.

“Should we start with dresses?”

The announced question rang with ill intention, prompting the two men to share a secret smirk.

“You read my mind~” Dazai drawled lazily, bandaged wrists grasping the first item in reach, “What do you think?”

Shifting his attention from a gothic dress, reminiscent of the victorian era, Chrollo turned in the direction of the teasing tone, not at all prepared for the atrocity awaiting him. He visibly flinched backwards at the sight of the gaudy floral patterns adorning a loose fitting maxi-dress, only grandmas with a severe lack of taste would consider picking it out— _Karens_ —and at that moment he regretted suggesting for his former partner to reunite in one last mission.

Eyes twitching with disgust, Chrollo required no words to convey his displeasure with this specific choice of clothing. In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that the waste of bandages was taunting him, and in a moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity, he blurted out, “What a divine choice!”

With a luminous beam, Dazai clasped his hands together in jubilation, having not expected such a positive response at the playful teasing. Mildly surprised at the speed with which they regained their former dynamic, he prompted, “The dressing room is right over there. You should try it on, hm?” Pointing briefly to the other end of the store.

Humoring him with a thoughtful hum, Chrollo caught an even more hideous outfit from the periphery of his vision, barely sparing it a glance, “Only if you try this one on, _partner.”_

Getting the hint, Dazai gagged in the back of his throat, his amber eyes fixing on the rainbow colored tutu-puffed two-piece outfit Chrollo was holding in his slender fingers, a closed eyed smile gracing the ravenette’s face.

They allowed a moment to pass between them, in which they arrived at a consensus.

“Never speak of this again?”

“Agreed.”

Dropping the subject entirely, they actually attempted to pinpoint the finest selection of clothing for their mission. A shop clerk picked up on the two men’s rather obvious indecision, rushing to politely aid them, “Can I help you two gentlemen?”

They regained their public personas at a moment’s notice, with Chrollo adopting a charismatic yet civil smile, while Dazai gave a flirtatious cheshire grin. Both the men straightened their postures, head inclining slightly downwards in a show of respect. Chrollo leveled the clerk with a heart-arresting look, “That would be much obliged. We are looking for something fancy yet not necessarily prudish, miss.”

A blush rose on the girl’s cheeks, startled by the sheer intensity of the alluring man’s gaze. Forcing herself to regain her professional front, she began, “Ah yes! We have the perfect fit,” The clerk made towards the back of the store, gesturing for the men to follow her, “Your girlfriend’s will be ecstatic!”

From behind her, Dazai grin morphed into a satisfied smirk, elated at the notion of Chuuya being his girlfriend. He didn’t bother correcting the girl, instead goaded her on, “We are all about pleasing our girlfriends~”

“Oh they must be extremely lucky.” She heaved a dreamy sigh.

Unbeknownst to her two customers were sharing the same reverie, envisioning a world where their efforts weren’t taken for granted, but were instead appreciated.

“Quite. If only they would realize.” Chrollo mumbled quietly under his breath, voice too low for the woman to pick up.

Leading them into a back room, the woman turned to face them with a knowledgeable expression, bestowed by years of experience, “Describe your girls to me.”

The first descriptions that came to mind for the partners, were snappy, discourteous, temperamental, short-fused, stubborn, child-like, and the epitome of annoying. However, they quickly came to the conclusion that they could not voice any of these truths.

Dazai tapped his chin in mock contemplation, a dreamy smile resting on his face, “Well,” He started, a mental image already forming in his brain, “She’s kind of short, like 5’3ish, with flaming red hair that really brings out her alluring azure eyes.”

She snapped her finger in a eureka moment, “I know the exact dress that fits this description.” Shuffling around for a few minutes, the shop clerk maneuvered cleanly through a myriad of clothing items, before grabbing what she saw fit.

Dazai raked his eyes over the dress, noting on how it checked out on his every mental requirement, “It’s perfect. I’ll take it.”

The shop clerk was taken aback at the speed with which he was satisfied, she mentally congratulated herself for her knowing her job like the back of her hand, the collection of dresses she had complied left forgotten. She flashed a small nod at Dazai, before averting her eyes to regard the other man, “What about you, mister.”

Chrollo nodded in approval at the dress in Dazai’s hold, before directing his attention towards the girl, “She’s not too far off from his girl, a little bit taller with a similar slender build. She’s blonde, so I would prefer something that either accentuates or contrasts with the color, if you may.”

Sifting through the enormous collection of fabrics complied on the rack with dextrous fingers, she professionally extracted the perfect match with a small ‘aha’ before twirling delicately on her feet to show the man. Chrollo reached out to feel through the texture, awed at the liquid smoothness of it before coming to a decision rather quickly.

“I love it.”

Without wasting a second, the clerk gathers the two dresses and heads towards the register.

From beside him, Dazai wore a triumphant grin that spoke of disaster, “The party will be one hell of a night.”

An ominous chuckle escaped Chrollo’s lips, “Indeed.”


End file.
